Hope
by Lynse
Summary: One-shot following Faith. Jack thought his last visit to Susan before the summer would be a relatively quiet one. He didn't count on meeting Bunnymund there again.


A/N: Takes place a few weeks after _Faith._ If it's enjoyable, thank LCAAS, who desperately wanted me to write more, seemed to particularly wish to see something with Bunnymund (though that may have just been my impression), and thought that the Guardians themselves were getting rather stagnant and could stand to hear a few of Susan's lessons. A bit of a different feel to this one, though, what with the tension between Jack and Bunny. Of course, if it's enjoyable and even if it's not, I wouldn't mind hearing that myself, if only so I know for next time…. *grins* As always, standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

The nearer Jack got to Susan's house, the more convinced he became that this would be his last visit until the cooler weather came.

North hadn't mentioned Susan again since their joint visit those few weeks ago, but Jack knew he'd have to tell the others sooner or later. She wasn't a secret, after all. He'd just…have to figure out the best way to tell the other three. Unlike North, Jack highly doubted the others would have any secret connection to Narnia.

As the wind let him down on the front lawn, however, Jack realized that he might not _have_ to figure out a way to tell the Guardians of Hope, Memories, and Dreams.

The Guardian of Hope was already here.

That explained the daffodil that had sprung up in the middle of the lawn since Jack's last visit, at least.

"North didn't send you for me _again_, did he?" Jack called out as he walked nearer, noting that his frosty trail of footsteps were almost immediately melting. It was getting too late in the spring now….

At least he could take great pleasure in seeing Bunnymund jump and dart away from the window into which he'd been peering a moment before. "Are you never going to stop trying to sneak up on me?" he snapped, trying—and failing, much to Jack's continued amusement—to look as if he hadn't been caught out.

Jack shrugged. "Think of it as payback." A few more steps, and he'd joined Bunny on the porch. "What are you doing here?"

Bunnymund snorted. "What are _you_ doing here, mate?" he retorted. "You look like you're going to melt."

Jack knew better than to concede that he found it a bit warm. At least it was cloudy, and he'd brought a bit of a chill on the wind with him…. Not that that would last very long, but still. "I'm doing what I was going to do last time before you interrupted me."

"And that is?"

"What do you think?"

Bunnymund's eyes narrowed. "I already told you, there aren't any children in this house."

"But you're not so convinced of that yourself that you won't go peeking in the windows to find out," Jack countered.

Bunny's nose twitched, and Jack knew he'd won that one. "You're coming back here for something."

Technically, Bunnymund wouldn't be wrong; Jack did keep returning for Susan's friendship, for her time, for her companionship, for her stories.

But it was still more of a some_one_ than a some_thing_, and Jack decided that if Bunnymund was going to learn of Susan today, it might as well be in a way that made him look a bit more like a fool. As such, Jack lost no time in pointing out Bunny's mistake, and he thoroughly enjoyed the stunned expression on the rabbit's face.

"What? Some_one_? You're having me on, mate. I _know _there aren't any children—"

"No, but that doesn't mean no one in there can see us," Jack interrupted, nodding at the house. He surreptitiously tapped his staff in an area of the porch still caught in shadow, but even there, his intricate frost patterns melted into the uniform sheen of water within seconds.

Definitely his last visit for a while.

"But adults—"

"Most adults," Jack corrected. "Susan's…special."

"Special," Bunnymund repeated flatly.

"You don't have to believe me. You can go back to painting eggs and whatever else you do."

"Like I'm going to—"

"All right, fine," Jack said, cutting in abruptly. While he ordinarily wouldn't mind poking fun at Bunny, he'd rather do so indoors. The wind was warming too quickly for his tastes. "You can feel it, can't you? The magic?"

Bunnymund's ears twitched, and Jack took this to be a 'yes'.

After all, even if Easter had passed, it would still take more than idle curiosity to get Bunnymund to gallivant around like he had nothing better to do. Couple that curiosity with the pull of magic, however, and Jack knew it would be enough to get his fellow Guardian to look into things.

"It's because of her. Susan. She's…." Jack trailed off. "You'll see," he said, knocking and letting himself in without waiting for an answer.

"You can't just _walk in_," Bunnymund protested, despite following Jack into the house. "You—" He stopped abruptly, no doubt seeing Susan where she had stopped partway down the stairs. She smiled broadly and moved to join them while Jack managed to get around Bunny to close the door.

"Hello again, Jack. I hadn't thought I'd see you back here until the cold weather came."

Despite himself, Jack grinned. "I wanted to let you know I'd be gone for a while." Bunnymund snorted, and Jack rolled his eyes. Jabbing a thumb in Bunny's direction, he said, "This is the Easter Kangaroo."

"I'm a bunny," Bunnymund snapped. Then, remembering himself, he turned to Susan. "E. Aster Bunnymund. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Susan's smile returned. "Susan, and you needn't be so formal. Jack certainly isn't, though I daresay there haven't been too many people trying to teach him manners of late."

"Hey," Jack grumbled, feeling a bit disgruntled. "I'm not _that_ bad."

Susan raised an eyebrow.

"All right," Jack relented, "but it's the Kangaroo's fault. He brings out the worst in me."

Susan began to herd them towards the little room where she'd spoken with Jack on his first visit—and many times since then. It was a comfortable, friendly sort of room, even without (rather thankfully, considering the comparative heat of this day to that winter's night when he'd first been here) the cheerful roar of the fire. "Regardless," Susan said as she took her seat and motioned for them to do the same, "while you're here, I'm going to ask that you refrain from needling each other. Aslan knows I've seen enough petty disputes to last me a lifetime, and you two didn't come here to bicker with each other."

Bunnymund looked a bit taken aback, and despite feeling chastised, Jack couldn't help but smirk. He'd heard this tone in Susan's voice surface more than once over the course of his visits—_"I would appreciate it if you didn't freeze my tea over, Jack. Do try to contain yourself."_—but, moreover, he knew the experiences which had cultivated it. He could place the royal reprimand in her tone, even if Bunnymund couldn't.

And seeing the other Guardian out of his element was something Jack savoured. His relationship with Bunny wasn't tenuous, exactly, but their friendship didn't come as easily as it did with the others. This was perhaps in part because Bunnymund could hold a grudge and also because Jack had no real qualms about giving him no reason to let it go.

It was too much fun to irk Bunny to let the opportunity pass him by.

Susan's expression softened slightly. "I take it Jack hasn't said anything to anyone besides Father Christmas?"

"North," Jack corrected automatically. "And, well, no. Not yet. I was going to. I just…didn't."

"Hold on, you've met North?" Bunnymund said.

Susan's eyes twinkled. "More than once, and I'm quite grateful for it. The first gifts he gave to me in person were well used." She paused, then added, "I did try to honour his wishes and keep out of the battles, but I'm afraid there was a time or two when it was simply unavoidable."

"_Battles_?" Bunnymund repeated, looking between Susan and Jack. "What am I missing?"

"Quite a bit, I imagine," Susan replied, "as it's taken me a long time indeed to catch Jack up."

"Susan's special, like I said," Jack said smugly. Then, more because of Susan's reproachful look than Bunny's glare, he added, "North said she's gifted. Touched."

Bunnymund frowned.

Then his eyes grew large, and he turned back to Susan. "You're one of _those_?" he asked.

It was as this point that Jack realized there were still some things the other Guardians knew that he didn't.

True, he'd been surprised to learn that North knew of Susan. But he'd still remembered Susan's stories about Father Christmas. It hadn't been terribly difficult to put two and two together and realize that North was Father Christmas in Narnia just as he was Father Christmas on Earth, even if he hadn't entirely accepted it until Susan had confirmed it.

But while Bunny clearly didn't know Susan or her history, he knew _of_ her. Not in the same way North had, but he knew the sort of person she was.

The sort that he wasn't sure anyone else was anymore, given North's words.

Jack wasn't fond of meetings, but he'd gladly sit through one if it meant he'd find out things like _this_, things that everyone else but him seemed to know. He really was the last one to find out….

"I've travelled, if that's what you mean," Susan replied with a sparkle Jack recognized surfacing in her eyes. She knew Bunny didn't quite know the whole meaning of her words, just as Jack hadn't when she'd told him, the first time they'd met, that she was older than she looked.

Bunnymund, of course, shot her a sceptical look. Jack knew he was re-evaluating the situation, weighing the fact that she could see him against everything he knew—which included, apparently, a number of things Jack wasn't aware of—to find out whether this was just some trick on Jack's part. For a moment, Jack almost wished it were; the Kangaroo had become increasingly wary, and Jack's pranks weren't as successful as he'd like.

Susan, however, must have seen something else in Bunny's expression, for she added in a sharper tone, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't look at me like that. If you think I can't read the facial expressions of rabbits, you'd be sorely mistaken."

For a split second, Bunnymund gaped at her.

"My journeys beyond this world took me to the land of Narnia," Susan explained, the bite disappearing from her tone. From what Jack could tell, Bunnymund did not know anything in particular about Narnia, for he looked as startled by her next statement as Jack would have been if he had not heard so many of her stories. "You may still be larger than the Talking Rabbits of Narnia, but I've had enough dealings with all sorts of people and beasts alike that I've become quite adept at reading expressions." There was a pause. "But even without that experience, I daresay I would have been able to spot the touch of hopelessness in Jack's eyes when I first met him."

"Hopelessness?" Bunnymund echoed, eyeing Jack now.

Jack shifted in his seat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure he could blame it entirely on the balmy weather, either.

He'd wanted to be distracted from the idea that the other Guardians still knew things he didn't, things they clearly didn't see fit to share with him (though he could hope it was because of relative unimportance than the fact that, like Bunnymund, they were a bit reserved in what they wanted to share with him). But if he'd any choice, he would have picked a different distraction.

The trouble was, he couldn't entirely deny Susan's words.

Three hundred years alone. Three hundred years of questions and no answers. Three hundred years of being unable to shake the feeling of being abandoned. Three hundred years of having people walk through him, something that was always accompanied by an overwhelming, shuddering feeling of _emptiness_….

"Not complete hopelessness," Susan was saying softly, more to Bunnymund than to him. Jack didn't mind, since he'd rather try to disappear in his chair. It was rather ironic to think that, considering all the times he'd wished to be seen, he now wished he wouldn't be. "Anyone who's ever felt it, even if only for a moment," Susan continued, "never forgets that ache, and they'll always be able to recognize it in others. But Jack…. He was near its edge."

He remembered that night, and not just because he'd met another friend. It was because he'd had too many similar nights that _hadn't_ ended so pleasantly. Too many other nights where he'd let his hopes get up only to have them come crashing down.

He knew he fancied that he had more believers than he actually did. He got a certain swelling, buoyant feeling when another child began to believe in him that made him want to leap up into the air, to fly and laugh and dance at the sheer joy of it. But he suspected the strength of the feeling was merely a sign of how few believers he truly had, and there were a few nights, if he hadn't come in contact with a believer for days on end, that he could feel it taking its toll on him. It was one of the reasons he visited Jamie so often in the winter and one of the reasons he complained less when North insisted on keeping tabs on him when summer came to the northern hemisphere as it was slowly beginning to do now.

The Guardians were sustained by belief, just as Pitch had taunted when the lack of it had taken its toll on the others, and he was a Guardian now. He felt children's belief—or lack thereof—at his very core, his centre.

Its absence now left a different ache than it had before anyone had believed in him. He supposed that was for a number of reasons. He knew what he was missing, for one. He was a Guardian now, for another. And that ache drove him to try even harder to get believers. It was self-preservation in a way. A sort of instinct. But every time he tried, he couldn't help but hope he was successful.

Unfortunately, he was _un_successful more often than not.

"But why couldn't I tell, then?" Bunnymund challenged. "I'm the Guardian of Hope. I ought to be able to spot it, or its lack, if anyone can."

"But have you tried?" Susan asked simply.

"Tried?" Bunnymund echoed, a scoff in his tone. "What do you take me for? Of course I…." Here he trailed off.

Susan smiled, although it was a much sadder smile than its predecessors. "Yes, that's what I'd thought."

Bunnymund said nothing, settling for glaring at the unlit candlestick on the little table next to Susan's chair, and Jack hoped that this was enough to change the topic from him.

It wasn't.

Not wholly.

At any rate, Jack was fairly sure Susan wasn't done with the topic. He knew she could steer her way back to it. In fact, he was confident she would.

And he had no idea how to head her off.

"It isn't easy, is it, being around someone who can't seem to sustain their hope?" Susan was met with silence again, but this did nothing to deter her. Instead, she did what she'd tried on Jack many times when she'd been trying to learn more about him, and she attacked the topic from a different angle. "I've gathered from the village children that this Easter saw twice as many hidden eggs as usual, almost as if you were making up for the disappointment of last year." No one said anything. "You do realize," Susan said delicately, "that in this case, quality outstrips quantity?"

"The eggs this year were some of my best," Bunnymund said gruffly.

"You know that wasn't what I meant."

"Then pretend I don't."

From the corner of his eye, Jack could see Susan glance at him. "Very well," she agreed quietly, "but for Jack's sake, not yours." A slight hesitation, then, "All you need is one good spark. If set properly, it can catch and blaze. But if you aren't careful, you'll end up with a short-lived fire rather than a lasting one, with flames that will lick up all the dry kindling but not move to burn slow and steady on the logs."

At that moment, Jack realized that perhaps Susan wouldn't insist on putting him under the microscope.

He'd grown used to her analogies—she used all sorts in her stories—and he rather suspected she was describing what had happened to herself.

"For a particular child, one egg may well suffice. For another, nothing more than the sight of a snapped stick or a print that can be attributed to you. For others…." Susan trailed off. "For others, no amount of eggs will be enough."

Forgetting that he'd meant to keep quiet in an effort to keep Susan from trying to bring the conversation back to him, Jack asked, "Which child were you like?"

Susan's smile this time was a wry one. "I've been all three. When I was first met with despair, when I was first robbed of all my hope and convinced that even if I made it through another day, those nearest to me would not, I still needed a solid sign. The traces—a terrific cracking noise, far louder than anything I've heard since; the broken stone of the table; the missing body of the dead—were not enough. I didn't understand, and I was wrought with grief."

Jack, however, recognized this story. "Until you saw Aslan alive again," he said. Bunnymund was quiet, listening for once, and Jack supposed he was interested.

Jack couldn't blame him in the slightest. He'd heard this story before, and he still found himself listening with rapt attention. Every time he heard it—although admittedly this was only the second time, for Susan had so many stories that she hadn't taken to repeating them yet, and he hadn't wanted to request any until he'd heard them all—he caught a detail he'd missed before, some nuance of a deeper meaning that made the story that much richer or some tiny description that made his own mental picture of the happenings that much clearer.

"I didn't need to see him. My heart flooded with joy, with _hope_, the moment I heard his voice. I'll admit I still didn't want to quite believe it, and to this day I can't be sure if I truly did until I touched him, but hope burned within me, buoyant and bright, long before those hopes were confirmed." Susan was quiet for a moment. "The second time I lost my hope, it was not quite the same."

"When you were told you couldn't return to Narnia," Jake supplied.

Susan, however, shook her head. "I had hope, then, despite my knowledge. Perhaps too much hope, for it never ceased to be crushed, not until I decided I couldn't take the pain any longer." Her mouth twisted, and Jack knew better than to call her expression a smile. "A part of me _wanted_ to be broken then, for I wasn't convinced anything would ever be right again. I was wrong, but I still got my wish."

Jack frowned. "Then what was the second time?"

"The accident." Susan didn't elaborate. Jack didn't press her, for he knew the truth, and Bunny seemed to have guessed it. At any rate, it was Susan who finally broke the stretching silence. "That time," she said, her tone clipped, "nothing could have restored my hope."

"But Aslan did, didn't he, when he restored your faith?"

A small sigh. "Yes, in a way. I'm not wholly sure which of the two came first; perhaps they did come together, but I do suspect hope preceded faith. I may have fancied myself having faith before that, but I daresay I didn't truly have it until I was able to hope again." In a more business-like tone than before, Susan added smartly, "Now, of course, my hope doesn't flag. I'm able to be a bit more like my younger sister was in her time, and a bit more open to all the signs that can be seen in the world if one takes the time to look for them. Thankfully, I've been getting better in my old age, and I don't feel the need to search for them as often to keep my hope alive."

She looked Jack in the eye, and something in her expression made him want to flinch away.

"You, however…."

He knew she hadn't been done with him.

"It's the kids, isn't it?" This was from Bunnymund. "The number of kids who don't believe in you, even now. Crikey, some Guardian I am. It didn't take me long to rub that in that first time you were in North's shop, did it, the fact that no one believed in you?"

Jack opened his mouth but found his throat too dry and his tongue too thick to be able to say anything, so he closed it again and hoped Susan would jump in.

Thankfully, she did. "If that happened," she asserted in a gentle voice, "then perhaps you aren't as out of practice as I'd feared."

Bunnymund blinked. "Come again?"

"Out of all of you, Jack's the Guardian who's spent the most time with children of late, is he not?"

"Well, yes," Bunnymund admitted, for things had not changed much on that front since last Easter, despite each of the Guardians noticing how much they missed the close contact, "but—"

"But you've begun to lose sight of what you guard," Susan cut in swiftly.

Bunnymund sprang to his feet and was towering over Susan in a matter of seconds. "I have _not_!" he insisted. "I am a Guardian of Childhood. I am the Guardian of _Hope_. I am the Easter Bunny, and people believe in me!"

Susan, for her part, didn't look the slightest bit intimidated. She gazed up at Bunnymund, fixed him with a look, and said, in a tone that made the order quite clear, "Stand down, E. Aster Bunnymund. Peace. Your attempt at defence merely serves to strengthen my words, not yours."

"What? _How_?" Bunnymund spluttered. But despite his defiance earlier and the incredulity in his words now, he had already retreated. After a moment more under Susan's unwavering stare, he even sunk back into his seat.

Narnia's Gentle Queen was strong indeed.

Susan did not answer Bunnymund immediately, but when she did, her tone made it clear that she would not stand for more arguments until she had said her piece. "In the sharp defence of your titles, you lessened their worth. By your own admission, you have been long out of touch with the young ones. You've grown complacent and let your purpose wither, leaving you to protect the mere shell of hope itself rather than all the hopes of the children in this world. Be renewed by child's laughter. See new hopes and old and let yourself remember what you are truly working towards and why you are doing it. Learn to recognize it in others, to identify it, and for Aslan's sake, encourage it rather than prey upon it."

Jack glanced at Bunnymund at this statement, but the rabbit was pointedly not looking at him. He suspected Susan's implications were true, though. Pitch had the ability to sense the fear of others. He'd perfected it to the point that he could name a person's greatest fears and use it against them. It was not unreasonable to think that Bunny could do the same with hope. Perhaps that sort of ability played into how Sandy's Dreamsand worked.

"And above all," Susan concluded, "take care that you do not let something else rob you of any of your own hope, not even for a moment, for you cannot protect it in others if you cannot protect it in yourself."

Jack considered this for a few seconds, then decided saying something was worth a potential lecture from Susan. "Is that what happened with Pitch?"

"Stuff it, ya little blighter."

"But after what happened with Tooth, and then when all the eggs got smashed—"

"_Because you weren't there to fight off the Night Mares_," Bunnymund growled.

The words were like a slap to the face, and Jack faltered and fell silent again. He'd said he was sorry, but sorry hadn't been enough. Yes, he'd helped to defeat Pitch later, had gotten Jamie to believe in all of them again when he'd finally begun to waver, but Bunnymund held grudges.

For a _very_ long time.

Still, Jack was sure he was right. When the children could no longer see the Easter Bunny, even when he was right in front of them, offering brightly coloured eggs out of the last surviving basket…. Jack knew what it felt like to have a child walk through you. The bleak, empty feeling was…stronger than when it happened with adults. And then Bunny had even _said_—

But that wasn't right. Susan had implied that Bunnymund must have started to lose some of his own hope before all the children, save Jamie, had stopped believing in him, had given up on their own hopes. And he'd been fine when Jack had left to take Sophie home.

It must have happened when the Night Mares had come and Jack had not.

"_We should _never_ have trusted you!"_

Even now, the memory of Bunnymund's bitter words cut deep. Jack knew it had been his fault. He'd fallen for Pitch's temptations. True, he hadn't made the same mistake twice. Yes, even if he had been there when the others had been moving the eggs up to the surface, the battle may well have stretched on for Pitch wouldn't have given up until they'd beaten him. And, sure, Jack had played a major part in Pitch's eventual defeat, but they'd cut it close.

Too close.

"I'm sorry," Jack croaked. "I didn't mean…. The voice just sounded…. Pitch…."

No matter what he tried, he couldn't find the words to finish.

"Perhaps, in your eyes, he chose the wrong path," Susan observed, "but does that truly mean he cannot be forgiven?"

Even Jack could feel the resounding _No_ that hung in the air.

He wasn't sure whether he was more impressed by how she was taking them to task or the fact that she could do it so effortlessly.

He still hadn't told her a whole lot about himself, and all she knew about the situation with Pitch is what she'd been able to piece together herself.

"In my experience," Susan stated quietly, "even something as harsh as betrayal deserves forgiveness when the traitor truly repents. Oftentimes, he is the strongest one of all when it comes to the fight against the evil he once served, however he came to do it, for he has not only knowledge of the enemy but also the added fire of needing to prove himself worthy again, even once forgiven."

Edmund's story, Jack realized.

"But that determination to overcome the oppressor would come to naught without hope," Susan continued. Then, with a slight smile on her face, she added, "Hope is meant to remain, however unlikely something seems to be. Hope springs eternal, after all, though I expect you mean to see it's kept well above a mere trickle for fear it may run dry."

"Do you know what he did?" Bunnymund demanded, waving one paw towards Jack. "We were one Guardian down already, and I was nearly next because of him!"

"Yet you're here now, and clearly in fine form," Susan said in a careful tone, her face betraying no expression. "Is that also because of him?"

Jack got the feeling that Queen Susan the Gentle had learned much from her brother King Edmund the Just. For all that Susan had said many of the duties which required a case to be judged and a verdict handed out had fallen to Edmund, Jack highly doubted the others were without skill. And if _she_ was this good….

Then again, this was as much of the sort of thing he had gathered had been required in visits to other kingdoms and the like, so perhaps he shouldn't be quite so surprised she had this skill.

Still, knowing she had it was quite different from seeing her use it.

"I'd suggest," Susan continued when Bunny didn't answer, "that you see how well you can stabilize the feeling of hope in one of your own before you try to do so for others and accomplish a mere shadow of that which you are capable of spreading. And do remember that you mustn't listen to your fears. They'll blind you. I know all too well how easily you can fall into the trap of doing so and how, even if you realize it…." Susan hesitated. "And how, sometimes, even if some part of you realizes it, that part doesn't fight the rest of you, and you give in. It's a mistake I'm shamed to admit I've made more than once, and I was absolutely beastly to everyone else whenever I did."

Then, turning back to Jack, Susan offered him assurances she clearly felt he needed to hear, saying, "I will be here when you return, Aslan willing, but I daresay I've many more years in me yet."

She suddenly sounded much less like a Queen of Narnia and much more like an aging Englishwoman once again.

It would be jarring if he weren't almost used to it by now.

There were some times when the Queen was little different from the Commoner, but at other times, it was hard to think that he would ever mistake one for the other—or find them both in the same person.

Susan rose to her feet with a grace that made her secret past quite clear, and she smiled at them both. "I'm afraid I'd best be off to the market, if you'll excuse me. You're welcome to stay if you wish, but I haven't the faintest how long I'll be." She winked at Jack. "If I run into an old friend, I could be quite a while."

Jack, who usually cared little about time, glanced at the clock that rested on the fireplace mantle, decided it meant nothing to him, and figured he could guess how much time had truly passed once he got outside.

If he remembered.

"We'll go," Bunnymund said, jumping up. "I've got…things to do."

A smirk from Susan now. "Don't we all?" She looked at Jack, and he snatched up his staff from his feet and led them to the door.

It felt stuffy in here, and he realized he needed to feel a cool breeze on his face again. It would help him clear his head. At least, it had every other time Susan had given him something to think about.

"Goodbye, Susan," Jack said. "And…thanks again."

Susan pulled him into a quick hug. "You'll always be very welcome." Stepping back, she said, "Farewell, Jack. I hope to see you again when the wintery weather returns." Susan's lips quirked up at the word 'hope'. Then, turning to Bunny, with the smile still on her face, she said kindly, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Bunnymund. There are children in the village if you care to make the trip. At this time of day, and at the week's end, you'll no doubt find some playing in the park. There are plenty of bushes to hide in if you've no desire to be seen."

Silence for a moment, then, "Right. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." A pause. "It was…." Another pause, and finally, "I'm glad I met you."

"And I, you," Susan said graciously. To her credit, her expression never changed from genial and kind as Bunnymund made a few quick excuses to be out of the house and down a rabbit hole, its only trace once it had closed the flower that had sprung up in its place.

"A snowdrop?" Jack said, frowning. "Isn't it a little late for those?" He generally couldn't identify flowers, but that was one he saw on a fairly regular basis compared to most other flowers, and when he'd eventually learned its name, he hadn't forgotten it.

Susan, who stood next to him on the porch to see them off, nodded slightly. "Yes, in one aspect. I daresay that's the only snowdrop alive in the entire country. But it represents hope, Jack. Hope for the spring and for new beginnings, hope for better times and a brighter world, hope for everything that one might deeply and truly hope for. And this time, I expect it's meant to be hope for you most of all. I would suggest you make the most of it."

Jack looked between Susan and the snowdrop, and the smile which had been on his face grew into a grin and he laughed.

Hope.

It was a wonderful thing to have.

And even after the wind came down to sweep him away, stealing his laughter away from his lips by its sheer force, he still couldn't help but smile, for he could hear Susan's own laughter now, and he could recognize what it rang with: not just joy, as he'd thought before, but also hope.

Hope for him, for all of them, and hope for herself, hope that she would one day see what she most wished come to pass: hope that she would see her family again.

Hope for life, both here and in the true Narnia where she believed her family to be, and hope to make the best of the life she was living.

He had no plans to do differently.


End file.
